


Affliction

by aiko_komaeda



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiko_komaeda/pseuds/aiko_komaeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys of Fall Out Boy are falling apart. Confidence issues, depression, anxiety, and other factors are eating Patrick, Andy, Pete, and Joe from the inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affliction

I stood on the scale, watching as the number climbed. The scale's display flickered with each changing number, along with my thumping heart. The screen stopped changing and displayed a number- 185 pounds. 185? I stepped off the scale and shoved it back into its spot under the shelves.

One hundred eighty five fucking pounds. _No wonder I feel so fucking gross. No fucking wonder I'm having so many issues._

I lifted my head and look in the mirror. I'd never really cared about my weight, ever. _But I feel fucking disgusting. Asthma issues, horrible for a performer like me... Though how the hell could anyone stand looking at me on stage or in music videos? I'm a fucking blob of fat, nothing more._

I heard a knock on the door as I sat on the toilet, my head in my hands. 

"'Rick? Man, you ok? You've been in there a while," Joe said, his voice more annoyed than anything.

I forced myself to speak. "Yeah. I'm fine," I said, not entirely sure it was convincing. My voice was wavering, and trying to even it was like wrestling a shark.

Joe sighed. "I need to shit, man," he complained. I rolled my eyes.

"There's two other bathrooms."

"They're too far away."

I sighed loudly, standing up. I cast a glance in the mirror before I unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. The hinges creaked. I cringed, only because the sound reminded me of how the floorboards do the same whenever I walk.

Joe slid past me into the bathroom. 

I turned and stalked off to my bedroom, my heart in my stomach. I snorted. _That makes another thing I don't need there._

I sulked down the hall, looking at the pictures of my band- Fall Out Boy. We were smiling in all of them. After all, who would want to hang up a picture of a frowning group of people? I think people deserve to be happy. 

Just not me. A fatass like me does not deserve happiness. I'm just a waste of space- and a lot of it too. I shook my head and scratched my sideburns, my other hand now trailing on the wall. Reaching my room, I twisted the knob and entered. I _almost_ smiled when I saw the posters on my walls. 

Almost. But not quite. After all, it was then that I noticed how great the others looked.... Then there was me. I'm the front man. I look fucking gross. Pete, Joe, and Andy all looked fucking amazing. Healthy, minus the crazy amounts of editing. Even with the editing, I looked like a ghost.

I sighed and started walking toward my bed, wincing as I crushed something beneath my foot. I stepped back and looked at the shards of plastic on the floor. The blade of the sharpener was stuck in the bottom of my shoe. I sat on the bed and pried it out, running my fingers over its surface.

The blade reminded me of some of the fans I'd met at meet and greets. Scarred wrists. I'd always wondered what drove them to do such a thing to their bodies. Now I know.

I pressed the blade to my skin, breathing heavily. I pressed down and drew it across my wrist, watching as beads of blood seeped through the cut in my skin.

\---

I walked through the front door, three boxes of pizza in my hands. Andy and Joe stood up, each of them taking a pizza box from my hands and carrying them to the kitchen.

"Guys, where's Patrick?" I asked.

Andy shrugged, taking a bit of his pizza. He pulled the slice away from his mouth, nearly taking off all the cheese.

Joe looked up and swallowed the bite he had taken. "He's in his room, I think."

"Good. I need to talk to him about this idea I had for a song - It's kinda a surprise for you two," I nodded and set the pizza down. I took off my sweatshirt and shoes and headed upstairs. I walked down the hall and opened Patrick's door.

I nearly fell backward when I saw him. Patrick was in a ball on the floor, his tan carpet stained red under his wrist.

"P-Patrick?" I squeaked. He looked up at me, his eyes red from crying. I could see the tears still in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks.

I walked toward him, my eyes searching his face. "W-What happened, 'Rick?" I asked, not sounding at all calm, which probably didn't help. I found a towel on the floor and held it out toward him. I could see my arm shaking. Patrick reached up and took the towel from me, keeping one arm hidden from my sight. He pressed the towel to the hidden arm and looked up at me again. 

"Go away, Pete," he croaked, a fresh wave of tears washing over him. My heart sank in my chest. Something was wrong with him. Something was _really_ wrong with him. I couldn't handle seeing him in that state. I turned and ran out of the room, not even bothering to shut the door. I didn't want to stay there. 

I stumbled down the stairs, looking for the other two. Was it too soon to tell them? _Tell them_ what _exactly? That Patrick hurt himself?_ I wondered. 

If I lost Patrick, what the fuck would I do? He was my best friend. My brother, almost. What would I do if he... If he just wasn't _Patrick_ anymore? 

A wave of anxiety washed over me. Did I remember to take my meds this morning? I shook my head. It didn't matter. My medication didn't matter. Patrick mattered. That's all that mattered right now. Fuck the song plan that I had. Fuck the idea of the band going further. We couldn't do it if Patrick wasn't himself. And I couldn't do it. Not when I knew that Patrick was sick.

I turned around and ran back upstairs, making my way to my own room. _I think I know what 'Rick did. I think he finally..._

My heart dropped to my toes. _It finally got to him... All those fucking comments that people have made. All of them._

My mind whirled as I opened my door, my hand fumbling for the light switch. I flipped on the light, even though I didn't really need it. I searched my room for my own razor. I found it in my side drawer. I needed it. I needed the pain. The pain that always brought me so much relief. But at the same time... How could I leave Andy and Joe to deal with _two_ of us being a fucking mess?

I thought back to the look in Patrick's eyes when I found him on the floor of his room. His hurting, desperate eyes. I dug the razor into my skin, leaning back against the wall as the pain flooded through me. As I moved the razor down my arm, going for the second cut, a bitter smile played at my lips. I don't know what for. All I knew was that I was smiling, despite the pain of my situation. I ran the razor over my skin again, drawing blood. That's when I heard a knock. 

"Pete, bro, are you there?" Joe asked, standing outside the door. I prayed he wouldn't open it. _Not now. I can't let him know._

I slipped the razor into my pocket and looked around for something to cover my wrist. I didn't find anything in time, because Joe opened the door after I didn't answer. He saw my wrist and looked into my eyes.

"Pete..." He said, his voice a hell of a lot stronger than mine had been when I found Patrick. "Pete, why are you..." 

I shook my head, a tear rolling down my cheek. "'Rick..." I whispered. Joe walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz, why? Why, Pete?"

"P-Patrick. H-He's hurting and... Go away!" I screamed, thrashing against Joe's embracing hug. 

Joe's eyes flashed, filling with alarm and horror. "Pete-"

"I said go _away_!"

\----

I turned and ran out of Pete's room, heading straight for Patrick's. The door was open. I walked in and saw him lying on the floor, sleeping. The white towel lying next to him was caked with half-dried blood. His bloodied wrist was exposed. 

I stood next to him, looking down at his arm. _How could he do this to himself?_

I felt the wall inside me tumble down. Patrick and Pete. My two best friends. Broken. _But, what if Andy finds out?_ I thought, leaning against the wall on the other side of Patrick's room. 

I'd done so well to mask my depression all these years... But how was I going to keep it up, knowing two of the three most important boys of my life were falling apart? How was _Andy_ going to handle it?

I needed to tell him. I needed to. Before I fell apart the way 'Rick and Pete did. But how could I?

I looked at Patrick and felt as tears came to my eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he jolted awake. He stood up and held his wrist to his chest. He looked from the towel to me, then to his bloodied appendage again. 

"J-Joe, g-get out..." he whimpered, his voice small. My heart shattered. I walked toward him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"P-Pete did it, 'Rick. H-He relapsed," I whispered, probably not helping the situation at all. Patrick inhaled sharply. He tried to push me away. I held onto him. 

"P-Patrick, listen to me, please. Y-You can't do this to us... Please. We need you. We want you. W-We love you, you know," I whispered. 

Patrick successfully pushed me away. "Please just leave me the fuck alone. I don't fucking care. I'm a fucking waste of space. I'm fucking fat as hell and everyone knows it. How the fuck can they not? I'm a fucking beached whale!"

He looked at me with some foreign emotion in his eyes. His eyes glittered because of the tears. If he hadn't been crying, his eyes would probably have been dull and near to lifeless. His breathing was heavy and he sounded like he was wheezing.

"'Rick.... You need your inhaler... Please, use it," I begged, grabbing it off his night stand.

He knocked it out of my hand. "Fuck you! I don't _want_ it! I don't want this _life_!"

I stepped back, my heart racing. "Pat-"

"Get the fuck out of my room, Joseph!" Patrick shouted. 

Tears filled my eyes as I tore from the room, running into Andy in the hall as I made my way toward my own room.

The drummer said my name, but I ignored him. My heart hurt. My head hurt. Everything hurt. I was falling apart. Patrick and Pete had never yelled at me like that before. It broke my fucking heart.

I wasn't one for razors and harming myself directly. _I'll let the fucking alcohol do it._

\----

After my run-in with Joe, I walked into Patrick's room. What had caused Joe to- "P-Patrick?" I asked, my voice a bit higher than I thought it could go. 

He was sitting on his bed, running _something_ over his wrist. I saw beads of blood on his arm. "Patrick... Y-You're not..." 

"N-Not you too, Andy... Please, just leave me alone!" Patrick grunted. He dug the blade into his skin more forcefully this time.

I walked over to him. "P-Patrick! Stop that!" I demanded. He turned from me, watching as his wrist bled. 

"I thought I told you to leave me alone." 

"Patrick, you... Why?" 

"I'm fucking fatter than a whale, that's fucking why!" Patrick snapped.

My eyes searched him. "Patrick... Where did you get that idea?" 

"Look at me, Andrew! _Look at me!_ I'm fucking fatter than a whale. Everyone fucking hates me for my fucking weight."

I looked at the broken man in front of me, not too sure of just who he was anymore. Patrick had never once cared about his weight. Never.

"Look, Andrew. It's as if I've received some big cosmic sign that says I should disappear. So that's what I'm going to do. Don't try to fucking stop me," Patrick snarled.

I looked him over once more. "Listen to me, you stubborn shit. You are not fucking fat. You got that? You're fucking amazing the way you are. If you can't fucking see that, then you might as well go fucking die," I spat. 

Without waiting for a reaction, I turned and fled. _I needed a fucking drink. Fuck being a straight edge. I can't fucking do this. I'm fucking done already._


End file.
